


A garden of violets

by VelourFanClub (toomanysorrows)



Category: Historical - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: 16th Century, 1920s, 19th Century, Ancient Egypt, Ancient Rome, F/F, Getting Together, Historical, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Nuns, Paris - Freeform, Pining, Renaissance, Roaring Twenties, Victorian, Witchcraft, breaking up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:22:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21823615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomanysorrows/pseuds/VelourFanClub
Summary: In this work, four small stories showcase love between women in different settings throughout time, from Roman Egypt to the Roaring Twenties Paris.
Relationships: Original Character/Original Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16
Collections: A garden of violets





	1. Introduction

Hello everyone! I just wanted to add a quick introduction before the actual story chapters. 

This work has four different stories about women loving women, all set in a different time period and place. They’re all based, as much as possible, on academic research into sapphic history. I should mention the book Sapphistories by Leila J. Rupp for being a very good general history and for having a good bibliography at the end to steal from. So if you want to know more about anything in the stories, I definitely recommend checking out that book. However I’m also more than happy to answer any questions in the comments. 

The goal of these stories, aside from being fun to read, is very simple: it’s to give a window into the past that is, as best as possible, an accurate reflection of how things might have been. All the characters are fictional of course, and the situations invented, but I’ve tried to make their ways of thinking, understanding themselves and interacting with each other as historically accurate as I can. I hope that by reading them it can help people understand the way women loved women in the past a bit better and to appreciate both the uniqueness in each situation and to see some of the common threads in them (such as the associations of sapphic love with masculinity or foreigners).

So, if you have any thoughts or questions, please leave a comment, and otherwise I hope you enjoy!


	2. Egypt, 3rd century

_Upper-Egypt, 282_

The streets of Lycopolis were eerily quiet. Sarapias wrapped her cloak tighter around herself, a protection against the chilly night air. As she left her home and ventured into the streets she made sure to stay in the shadow of the houses. As bustling and friendly as the city could appear during the day, it was not prudent to stand out at night. Criminal gangs or drunkards looking for trouble could be around every corner. And on top of that there were the potential supernatural dangers, the spirits of the dead and great black demons in the shape of owls prowling the night. The amulet of Isis around Sarapias’s neck and the dagger in her belt held some comfort, but that didn’t mean she had to invite danger. 

Luckily, the only things that bothered her on her journey were two agitated dogs and they soon ran off to chase a passing cat. So, with only the sound of her own feet to keep her company, there was nothing to do but think on what had brought her out so late at night. 

It had started two months ago, when she had gone to the market to buy food. Normally her slave Helen took care of the task, but one of the merchants owed her money and she’d wanted to have a word with him about it. If she was already going out there, she’d reasoned, she might as well take care of the groceries while she was there. 

Nothing out of the ordinary had happened at the market until Sarapias had reached the stall of a fishmonger. She had just picked out a fish to buy when she saw her. 

She was a young woman, younger than Sarapias, though probably not by more than ten years, with strong arms from carrying fish around, beautiful long dreadlocks and an easy-going smile. For some reason Sarapias had felt compelled to stay and talk some more with the woman. The market was busy of course, so there was little time for small talk, but Sarapias did learn that the woman was called Thermoutharin and that she and her father had moved into the city from their home town further up the Nile. Despite the short interaction, something in her had made Sarapias eager to see Thermoutharin again. 

Over the next weeks, Helen had had her duties drastically cut as Sarapias had taken every opportunity to go to the market, and especially to the fishmonger’s. She reckoned she’d eaten more fish in those few weeks than ever before. Every time she had managed to make some smalltalk with Thermoutharin, she hand found herself liking the other woman just a bit more. It had seemed like Thermoutharin appreciated her visits too. Sarapias had gotten the impression that Thermoutharin had started treating her with more friendliness than she usually gave customers at least. She had even managed to have a few longer meetings outside of the market with her, in taverns or at her home.

Up till then, Sarapias had thought it was just normal friendship. Sure, her feelings for Thermoutharin were stronger than those she had for any of the other women she counted among her friends, but that was normal wasn’t it? Sometimes people just naturally got along better. But one day they had visited the bathhouse together and Sarapias had caught herself admiring her friend’s body in a way she had certainly never done with other women. To make matters worse, that night she’d had a dream where she and Thermoutharin were doing things that female friends were very much not supposed to do with each other.

Confused, Sarapias had sought the help of a dream interpreter and he had been very clear. Dreams that involved unnatural sex acts were a bad omen and that she was likely to meet with a bad end. She had left the interpreter’s house concerned and jumpy, doing her best to avoid the routes back home that could be dangerous due to construction or seedy reputations. For the next week, Sarapias hadn’t left the house, until a concerned friend had convinced her that just lying around in fear wouldn’t do her any good. The only good thing that had come out of the situation was the warm feeling she got in her chest when Thermoutharin said she’d been worried about her not showing up to the market for a while. 

Even with the dream, she hadn’t yet realised her feelings for Thermoutharin were anything but friendly. She just really liked the other woman, and it made sense for the gods to send an omen in the form of someone you cared about didn’t it? She had only realised the change in her feelings later that year. 

It had been the time of the Anthesteria festival, on the third day of which the spirits of the dead were commemorated and food was left out for them. Sarapias always got melancholy around this time of year, ever since her husband died four years before. It was easy to fall into nostalgic reminiscences about the past and their relationship. And it was while reminiscing like that, after a few too many cups of wine, that a crucial realisation hit her.

Her feelings for Thermoutharin were the same as what she had felt for her husband. 

She had known, theoretically, that there were women who acted and felt towards other women as a man would, but to realise she was like that was another thing entirely. Not to mention that such feelings and relationships were clearly not acceptable. There were the jokes in the plays in the theatre about lusty women from Lesbos who desired everything that moved, including other women. There were the accusations and jokes thrown around by drunken men, about masculine women having sex by using enlarged clits. There was that Christian or Jewish preacher she’d heard condemning women for it in the name of that god of theirs. Even if she decided not to push those feelings away, expressing them would not be easy.

But at the same time… it felt good. It had been years since she’d loved someone like this, she’d missed it, the butterflies in her stomach and the heady feeling of affection. Could such a feeling really be bad? Love came from Aphrodite, would the goddess really send her such feelings if they were unnatural? And if She would, then not Sarapias, but the goddess Herself would surely be at fault, right?

Even if it would need to be secret, would a relationship with Thermoutharin be so bad? To kiss her, to take care of her, to make her happy? It wasn’t like either of them were betrothed or married, no charges of adultery could be levelled at them. Two women being friendly was normal enough, maybe no one would notice if they were more than friendly behind closed doors?

Of course, that would require Thermoutharin agreeing to such a relationship. And that was very much not certain to happen. 

It had taken her a lot of deliberating, and many trips to the temple of Aphrodite-Hathor to pray, but eventually Sarapias had decided that simply letting her feelings rest was not an option. She couldn’t just let them dwindle when they could lead to something beautiful. But the practicalities of trying to seduce Thermoutharin were not easy. In the plays that showed women being involved with women, there was usually one masculine, active woman seducing the other. So Sarapias had tried to imitate that. She obviously couldn’t just start wearing a tunic, she had a respectable image to maintain, but still. 

Her hair was cut shorter, still a fashionable women’s style but much closer to the haircuts Greek men wore. She stopped applying eye-shadow, only using kohl to accentuate her eyes as was traditional for Egyptian men. And of course, she started acting more assertive. Going off her own experience with men, she imitated some of what they did when they wanted to woo a woman: give her gifts, invite her to places alone, pay compliments. Thermoutharin had not seemed to mind at least. She always thanked her for the gifts, looked to enjoy herself when they talked, she had even complimented Sarapias’s new hair!

But… had that meant Thermoutharin also held romantic feelings for Sarapias? What if the other woman had just been politely thankful for the generosity, what if she had just thought the hair was a nice style, nothing more? What if she just saw Sarapias as a friend? 

If she was a man, Sarapias could’ve risked confessing. It wouldn’t likely have given any problems other than some awkwardness between them if Thermoutharin turned her down. But their genders made the situation much more risky. Every time Sarapias had thought the situation was good for confessing, she had found herself backing out due to her fears.  
Sarapias had almost been ready to give up on it, and let the friendship remain a friendship after all, when she happened to overhear two women gossiping. Something about a witch who had set one of them up with a love spell. 

Discreetly asking around had gotten her the address of the witch without any issues. Travelling or sedentary sorcerers were common, and even if no one trusted them visiting them was common enough. This particular witch had only just moved into the city, but she had already helped plenty of people with their requests, including love spells, and was therefore quite commonly known already.

Visiting her for a love spell had seemed like a good idea. All the risk of confessing to Thermoutharin would be gone if Sarapias was certain the other woman would respond favourably. There would be no risk of Thermoutharin outing her and Sarapias being publicly ridiculed, they would be able to just get together and be happy. Maybe using a spell to make Thermoutharin love her was not the most moral thing to do but if Sarapias made sure to treat her right and make her happy, it wasn’t much of an issue, was it?

So she had gone to see the witch, a tall, gaunt woman from further down the Nile. The house the woman was living in hadn’t corresponded to what Sarapias had imagined, much more utilitarian and with much less strange artefacts lying around. The woman had raised an eyebrow when Sarapias had explained her situation but hadn’t commented, just moving to a chest and rummaging through some books. After the witch had apparently found what she’d been looking for, she’d given Sarapias a precise set of instructions and quoted her price. Somewhat confused but eager to leave, Sarapias had paid for the help and left, the whole experience over in what had felt like no time at all.

And that was why she was now walking through the streets of Lycopolis at night. Part of the instructions had already been completed at home: she had made two wax dolls, one of Ares representing herself, and one of a woman representing Thermoutharin. Sarapias had questioned the witch on why Ares represented her, since she was a woman, but the witch had waved it off and said the spell would work regardless. The witch was the professional, so Sarapias hadn’t questioned it further. After having made the figurine of Ares was piercing the woman with his sword, she had proceeded by tying a rope with a large number of knots around the figurine of the woman while chanting a formula in a language unknown to her. But the step after that needed to be completed in the graveyard. 

After a long walk Sarapias finally reached the graveyard at the edge of town. She hesitated for a moment at the edge of it. It was night, and the anthestheria, when the spirits came back to this realm, had not been that long ago. Maybe entering a graveyard at night would not be safe. She almost turned back around but… if she went back, everything would stay the same. Nothing would ever happen between her and Thermoutharin. It’d just be her pining while pretending she only wanted the other woman as a friend. Was that really something she wanted?

With newly determined steps Sarapias walked into the graveyard, to the grave she had selected during a visit by daylight. The man, Creon, was a soldier killed on the southern frontier and his spirit was still likely wandering around, waiting to be released. A perfect spirit to entrust a task to. With her hands she dug a shallow pit in front of the grave and placed the lead tablet, carefully inscribed beforehand, in it. On the tablet was a long invocation the witch had told her to write, involving a lot of deities she’d never even heard the name of. She quickly covered the tablet with earth before scraping her throat, preparing for the verbal part of the spell. 

“Creon, son of Antinous, by Anoubis and Hermes and all those below, attract and bind Thermoutharin, whom Herais bore, to Sarapias, whom Pantous bore. Enflame her heart and soul, torment her body night and day; force her to rush forth from every place, loving Sarapias whom Pantous bore. maei ote elbosatok alaoubeto oeio. Do not oppose me in this, governors of the earth, but bind Thermoutharin, whom Herais bore, to Sarapias, whom Pantous bore.” 

The invocation finished, Sarapias looked around. Nothing had changed in the cemetery, it was just her, the wind and the shadows. Although she was thankful no one seemed to have overheard her, having broken the silence of the graveyard made her feel rather self-conscious, so she quickly hurried towards the exit. Still, she couldn’t help having a slight spring in her step, full of eager anticipation for the results of the spell.


	3. U.S.A., 19th century

_Massachusetts, 1850_

Eleanor kept quiet under the covers of the bed in her dorm room, listening intently for any sound. For a good while she heard only the normal sounds of the night: the creaking of the building, the wind rustling through the trees outside, the pitter-patter of one of the mice the school somehow never managed to get rid of. Then – finally- a few gentle knocks came from the door. 

Eleanor quickly got out of bed, trying to make as little noise as possible. She opened the door and a girl with messy brown hair and a night-shirt like her own quickly rushed into the room. Eleanor peeked into the dark hallway, concerned.

“Did miss Stevenson see you?”

The other girl, Edith, shook her head.

“I don’t think so, she seemed caught up with grading and I didn’t make a noise.”

Eleanor sighed in relief. They had gotten caught once before sneaking into each other’s rooms and the thrashing from that time still hadn’t left her mind. She wasn’t eager for a do-over.

After closing the door she turned around, her next question dying in her throat when soft lips met hers while Edith pulled her closer. Eleanor certainly wasn’t about to complain, so she hugged the other girl close and kissed her back. It was only when they both had to breathe that they separated again.

Edith grinned mischievously. Despite the dark of the room hiding it, Eleanor knew from past experience the other girl was blushing. Eleanor herself was too. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that since lunch.”

Despite her flushed face, Eleanor grinned cockily as she walked over to the bed.

“Oh? If only miss Bailey knew, her best pupil distracted by such thoughts!”

Eleanor could practically feel Edith rolling her eyes as the girl sat down next to her on the bed. 

“Just be quiet and kiss me, or maybe I’ll have to tell her about everything you think about in class, hm?”

Eleanor obliged happily, pulling Edith down on the bed with her.

Neither of the girls were usually very talkative during their late-night meetings. Between lunch and dinner, the allotted recreation times and a lot of notes in class they had plenty of opportunities to talk with each other during the day. That was in fact how their friendship had started. When they had been sat together in class on their first day at the academy, Eleanor had whispered a joke to Edith about their teacher’s glasses and soon enough Edith had been laughing so loud the entire class had noticed. The teachers knew better than to ever put them on the same bench again now but the girls had still become best friends.

But opportunities for affection where something else. Relationships between the girls at the academy were common, and the teachers turned a blind eye to them as long as the couples limited it to hand holding and hugs. But anything more than that, well…. The janitor’s closet was often occupied and the hallways at night saw their fair share of stealthy traffic. 

So when Edith came to her room, or Eleanor went to Edith’s, little was said. Instead they spent their time exchanging kisses, sweet words and gentle touches. Neither of the fifteen year olds had done anything more than that, although they’d both overheard the older girls talking about much more intimate meetings. Eleanor had sometimes thought about doing such things with Edith but, well, it wasn’t exactly something that was easy to bring up, was it? And they had plenty of time anyway. 

But this time, after their initial excitement had faded and they were just cuddling on the bed, Edith spoke up. 

“Did you hear the rumour about miss Stevenson and miss Bailey?”

Eleanora hummed inquisitively.

“I haven’t. Why, what happened?”

“Apparently Susannah saw them kissing in one of the classrooms, while she was sneaking around at night.”

“That’s not really a surprise. Have you heard how they talk with each other? And they do live together in that house further down the road.”

Edith nodded against Eleanor’s neck.

“I heard reverend Marley call them sapphists under his breath last Sunday.”

Eleanor cocked an eyebrow, leaning back slightly.

“Sapphists? What’s that?”

Edith shrugged.

“I don’t know, really. I asked the librarian once but she just glared at me and told me to not ask such things. So it can’t have been a good thing.”

Eleanor nodded. The librarian always liked being asked questions, so for her to not want to answer it must be bad. Or at least dirty. 

For a while all was quiet again, until a thougt came to Eleanor..

“Do you think we can be like them?”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, living together? We wouldn’t have to worry about sneaking around like this, we could just do everything we wanted together. Just like miss Stevenson and miss Bailey. Or like they do in Siam.”

Edith sat up a bit, squinting. 

“What does Siam have to do with it?”

“I heard uncle Francis talk about it once, when he came back from a trip there. Apparently it’s really normal for women there to kiss. He was going to talk about other things they did there, but mother changed the subject.”

Edith hummed as she thought about it.

“I suppose it would be nice. But where would we get money to live without a husband? It’s not like I can inherit the estate, or you can inherit your father’s business. And there aren’t that many jobs for girls.”

“We could just start teaching like miss Stevenson and miss Bailey, right? That gets you an income. And you’re very good with embroidery, you could sell that.” 

Edith was quiet, thinking about it for a while longer. But then she smiled and snuggled a bit further into the blonde’s neck.

“It certainly sounds nice. Though,” she sat up again, her voice serious, “we’re not going to Siam , and we’re certainly not getting a cat.”

Eleanor sat up too, pouting.

“What? Cats are delightful, how could we not get one!”

Edith huffed, her arms crossed.

“They eat birds and leave hairs everywhere. They’re pests.” 

Eleanor glared back at her, before she suddenly reached out to start tickling Edith’s sides.

“Take that back right this instant!”

Letting out a loud giggle, Edith quickly moved her own hands to Eleanor’s arms to retaliate.

“No! I only speak the truth.”

The play fight went on for a while longer, eventually devolving into fits of giggles and desperate attempts to quiet the other so miss Stevenson wouldn’t overhear and come to investigate. Luckily, the teacher had herself fallen asleep. There was no thrashing the next morning.

\---- 

_Massachusetts, 1855_

As soon as the front door closed Eleanor pushed Edith against it, pressing heated kisses to her neck. Edith’s parents were away for a few nights, and the servants had been given the night off to attend a servants’ ball, so Eleanor had thought it the perfect time to visit. The two women rarely had as much time together as in their school days now so she was eager for any chance she could get to be alone with Edith.

Edith however had other ideas, quickly pushing Eleanor away and starting to smooth out the dress that had gotten ruffled thanks to the other woman. 

“I told you already, we can’t do that anymore.”

Eleanor crossed her arms, a pout coming on her face that Edith, despite herself, couldn’t help but find endearing. The blonde-haired woman asked the question that she’d heard the answer to many times before. 

“And why is that then?”

As much as a part of her told Edith to kiss the pout away from Eleanor’s lips, she didn’t budge, crossing her arms too and looking back defiantly.

“Like I told you, I’m engaged. I can’t do such things now.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes. They’d had this conversation before, ever since Edith had accepted the proposal of Alfred Dickinson that summer. He irritated Eleanor to no end. It was clear that her family’s estate was the only reason he’d proposed to Edith, he didn’t love her. Not like Eleanor did, certainly. But for some reason Edith didn’t realise that, or if she did her friend didn’t seem to care.

“He doesn’t need to know. Men never care what happens when women are in private anyway.”

Edith shook her head, walking away into the other room with Eleanor following her.

“It doesn’t work like that. By accepting his proposal I promised to be faithful to him and I don’t intend to break that promise. You should know how bad it is to do so, you were always the best at scripture knowledge between the two of us.”

Eleanor made a dismissive sound but didn’t respond, instead sitting in one of the chairs with a gloomy expression. Edith picked up the embroidery she had on the table, so she could look at something that wasn’t Eleanor right now. 

After a while, Eleanor spoke up again, her voice quieter and sadder than Edith had expected.

“And what about being faithful to me? Is that not important anymore?”

Edith blinked, not having expected that question. They’d quarrelled before of course, but that had never gone farther than Eleanor saying some nasty things about Edith’s fiancée, and Edith being rather cross with her about it. They’d then usually sit in tense silence until one of them either gave in and started a more normal conversation or left. But Eleanor had never voiced that particular sentiment. And Edith, frankly, didn’t know how to respond.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

Eleanor glared at her.

“You know very well what I mean. We’ve loved each other for years Edith, certainly longer than you have been with that twat. We had dreams of living together remember? What happened to all that? Is that not an important promise to keep?”

Edith felt a slight feeling of guilt. It’s true she’d wanted that all those years ago, they both had. A part of her still did, truth be told. But they’d been silly promises and fantasies, made when they were children. 

“Don’t be childish Eleanor.”

The woman stood up, angry.

“There is nothing childish in expecting some measure of consideration from your lover!”

Edith shrank back for a moment, before standing up herself, keeping her voice calm. 

“It is very childish, a bright woman like yourself should know that.”

Eleanor glared at her, a grimace coming onto her face.

“Oh? Do enlighten me then, about how childish my feelings are.”

Edith huffed, starting to talk loudly, hoping that the volume could help convince Eleanor. And on some level, herself.

“Everyone knows things like this are not true love! They’re merely a silly fancy for young girls. A woman is supposed to be with a man, the bible says so. I even talked with doctor Merrimac about it and medical science confirms it. Things like we did, they’re supposed to stay in adolescence. They’re merely practice. To keep them into adulthood is simply unhealthy.”

Eleanor still scowled at her but didn’t respond. Edith sighed slightly, seeing the traces of hurt in the other woman’s gaze. It hadn’t been easy for her to accept either, that her continuing passion was a sickness. But she’d had to, it was vital to her wellbeing. If only she could make Eleanor realise the same thing. 

She approached Eleanor, reaching out her hand to stroke the blonde’s cheek like she had so many times before. She could see Eleanor’s gaze soften under the familiar affection, and she spoke with a gentle voice:

“Eleanor, it’s not like we can’t be friends any longer. Friendship is normal, and I never want to lose yours. But this is the natural way of things. Love like this is supposed to be between a man and a wife, not between two women. I know how deeply you love, I know you could make a man very happy with it someday. If you need we can talk to doctor Merrimac, I’m sure he’ll know of some way to help with this. Regardless, I know that one way or another, you can escape it.” 

Eleanor opened her mouth to say something, but Edith quickly cut her off, trying to make sure she got her point across.

“I’m worried you know? After you turned down Robert Smith’s proposal people have been talking. About how you’re mannish, and stuck-up and, well… a sapphist. I know you’re not a monster like they say, but the only way to make that clear is for you to marry. And for us to not act like we did anymore.”

Edith had hoped her words could calm Eleanor down. She just had to make Eleanor see reason and then they could try to figure out a way to help the woman. Like that they’d both be able to live happy, healthy lives. 

Instead of quieting down however Eleanor moved back from her. The look on her face was the foulest Edith had ever seen her with, filled with pain and hurt.

“And what if I am one, huh? Have you considered that?!”

Edith sighed.

“Eleanor, don’t be silly, of cou-“

“I am not being silly!”

Eleanor huffed, speaking in a voice that made it clear interrupting would not be a good idea.

“I’ve had plenty of time to do some thinking, and some reading, while you were off with your precious Alfred. There’s a surprising amount written on the topic. Quite old too! If I am a sapphist, like people say, I would certainly not be the first one! The name had to come from somewhere after all! And I reckon there’s nothing you, doctors and much less a husband could do about it!”  
Edith’s mouth gaped open slightly. Both women stared at each other in shock for a while at the outburst, even Eleanor looking surprised she’d let all of that out.

After a while, the blonde scraped her throat.

“I don’t think we have anything more to discuss then. I’ll be going.”

A small part of Edith wanted to reach out to take Eleanor’s hand as she turned. Tell her that she was right, that Edith had been foolish. To apologise for what she’d said about her and their relationship. But a much larger part of Edith told her that she herself had been in the right. That Eleanor was unfortunately mistaken, and that there was nothing Edith could do to help her when she was that set in her ways.

So when Eleanor paused at the edge of the room and looked back at her, Edith simply sat down and went back to her embroidering.


	4. Flanders, 16th century

_Countryside around Ghent, 1566_

The normally quiet halls of the Our-Lady-Of-Peace nunnery were filled with soft chatter. The rule of silence was left temporarily forgotten as nuns hurriedly whispered among themselves, though a few at least tried to keep their conversations contained in the customary sign-language.

The sisters who had gone to the market that morning had brought the rumours from the nearby town and they had sent an anxious energy throughout the convent. The news was neither new nor surprising, but it was frightening nonetheless. 

All summer similar messages had come in. Groups of men wandering through the countryside and cities, smashing the statues and stained glass-windows or burning the paintings in every church, chapel or monastery they could find, accusing the clergy of idolatry. 

The reports of the attacks varied, sometimes the brigands did it in an orderly, quiet fashion; other times it was accompanied by mockery of the clergy and drunkenness. The destruction was rarely accompanied by attacks on persons, thankfully, but it remained shocking sacrilege nonetheless.

So far the monastery had remained free from attack, the area it lay in less affected by the protestant heresy than others, but no one expected that to last. The abbess had already spent some of the monastery’s funds on hiring men to stand guard and take watch around the grounds. 

Moreover, a group of nuns had been sent to the calmer south to take refuge with a friendly monastery in Liège, taking with them the finger of St. Agnes that was the monastery’s most precious possession as well as the works of art and the liturgical vessels. In the event of an attack the monastery’s treasures would be safe at least. 

Unlike the others, sister Louise didn’t partake in the gossip. Her mind was too occupied with other matters. So she passed by the groups of talking nuns, trying to focus on possible remedies for a sick sage-bush in the herb garden to prevent her mind from drifting to more unpleasant matters. That was, until a small bark from by her feet shook her out of her worried contemplation. 

Down by her feet a little dog with a curly black coat barked up at her, his tail wagging. A small smile came on Louise’s face as she picked him up. Lancelot, as she’d called the dog, was quite spoiled and he preferred being carried over having to walk anywhere himself. He was hardly an example of Christian virtue. Sister Magdalena had warned her to make sure to train him properly when she gave him to Louise but, well, a nun’s life left little time for dog training. Luckily he was cute enough that most everyone at the monastery tolerated his laziness.

She sighed at the memory. Lancelot had been a present from Magdalena, who had gotten him from her brother who bred dogs. He was all Louise had left right now of the other nun, and she couldn’t help her thoughts drifting. 

Louise had met sister Magdalena when she was still new at the convent. She’d hardly been an exemplary novice, quite the opposite. The decision to become a nun had been her own, both out of piety and to avoid the marriage her parents had been intending to arrange for her. But the strict rules and quiet, controlled life had grated on Louise, which had resulted in her acting out quite a lot. After one bad incident in the choir, she’d been punished by having to tend to the monastery’s pigs for two weeks. And well…

Piglets were very easy to miss and very good at tripping you up.

So Louise had landed herself in the convent’s small hospital wing with a broken leg. Luckily not so bad that it would have left her permanently impaired but it had been clear that she’d be staying in bed for a good long while. 

And that’s where she first saw Magdalena.

The other nun was fifteen years her senior and in charge of the hospital. She had been a welcome presence for Louise, since the only other inhabitant of the hospital besides herself had been Walburga, a very old nun who was put there because her age had left her requiring constant oversight and attention. Not the most uplifting company, it had to be said.

Sister Magdalena had helped her a lot. Not just through her skill in healing, which was admittedly prodigious and Louise would come very close to breaking the “love thy enemy” command if she ever heard someone saying otherwise. But Magdalena had also helped her mentally. Her struggles with adapting to monastic life as a novice and then being confined to her bed after an embarrassing accident had left Louise feeling very unsure of herself, about what her future should be and whether she was even suitable to become a nun. 

Magdalena had kept her distracted from those worries through conversation, talking about news from outside the hospital and facts about the human body and healing. When old sister Walburga was asleep and couldn’t give commentary, she had also listened to Louise’s worries and fears with understanding. The older nun had reassured her that all would be well and it had been hard to stay worried when she was around.

When Louise had left the hospital she’d felt herself a changed woman, more at peace and assured. She had taken Magdalena’s recommendation to pray more, entrusting her worries and frustrations to the Virgin that gave their monastery it’s name. 

It had helped, being able to vent all her frustrations and fears in the knowledge that She would understand and wouldn’t judge her. It was a good outlet for Louise’s worries and as a consequence it made it a lot easier to function in the quiet environment of the monastery. 

Even after her leg had healed Louise and Magdalena had kept talking. At first it had been a very ordinary friendship, the kinds that novices often developed with an older mentor. But soon it had changed into something more. Outside of prayer Louise had found her thoughts drifting to the other woman more and more, even when she should have been focusing on the book she was supposed to be reading or on the embroidery she’d been doing. 

After being accepted into the monastery as a full-fledged nun Louise had asked permission to focus on tending the monastery’s herb garden. That hadn’t been solely due to her own interest. After all, the herb garden was closely tied with the hospital because of it’s medicinal herbs. And if she had let the dandelions that Magdalena loved so much grow a bit more than she should, that also wasn’t a coincidence. 

Louise hadn’t been the only one dealing with such feelings. The way Magdalena talked to her had switched from being that of an elder to a novice, or from a mother to a daughter, to the way one talked to an equal or friend. A very good friend. It wasn’t just Magdalena helping Louise anymore, they helped each other. Magdalena had started to trust Louise with her own worries and insecurities too.

And while Louise may have begun to work in the herb garden to be able to see Magdalena more, Magdalena in turn had been coming to the herb garden a lot more than was strictly necessary.

Then, on a warm summer day, when the hospital was empty save for the two of them and a snoring sister Walburga, they’d exchanged a chaste kiss.

The abbess encouraged friendship between the nuns, believing it to be an important part of maintaining the community. In her eyes, friendship and support could only be a help on the path to salvation. But even so, with the tight schedules, the many tasks to be done and the vow of silence, expressing affection and finding time alone was difficult. 

And yet, the two of them had found ways. There had usually been enough time for small conversations during visits to the herb garden or the hospital and while Louise had once gotten an admonishment for spending a bit too much time there, as long as they didn’t do it excessively no one had minded. Both of them had been good at their trades after all. Sitting together in the refectory or in the church during the times devoted to prayer had also provided, in its own way, an intimate experience. 

And sometimes, on the holidays when nuns were allowed a bit more freedom to spend time with friends, or when they had both managed to find excuses to stay out late for either of their jobs, they’d always managed to find some extra time to spend together. 

Of course they had never used their nightly visits for sin. She and Magdalena weren’t like the Cathars of old with their orgies or the mohammedans with their harems. Or like the prostitute that seven years old Louise had seen being burned in the city square for sodomy. They had never lusted after each other in such a way. Their love was a pure, spiritual one, where each cherished the other deeply without any base desires. 

If Louise sometimes had less than chaste thoughts about her love, she knew that was just the devil trying to trick her

But now all of that was at an end. Her dearest had gone south with the relic and the treasures, leaving her here, alone. It hadn’t been Magdalena’s desire of course, Louise couldn’t blame her. She had asked the abbess to be allowed to remain behind, reasoning that the hospital needed tending now more than ever and that she couldn’t bear to leave her home, but the abbess had merely replied that while the separation would be hard, it was just a trial God would see her through. Louise hadn’t argued for Magdalena to stay, to avoid accusations of being too attached. 

Officially it was supposed to be a temporary separation of course. The relics and treasures and the sisters who’d gone with were supposed to return when the situation had calmed down again. Or if worst came to worst the rest of the convent would go and join them. 

But Louise couldn’t help but fear. These were uncertain times, with violence seeming to brew in every city and with preachers fulminating against the church everywhere. It was as if the times of the Roman emperors of old had returned. In such times, it was hard not to fear that a separation would end up being permanent. That she’d never see Magdalena again. 

It was romantic, in a way. At night Louise sometimes thought back to the romances she’d read in her youth, the stories of knights burning with love for their lady even if she was far away and out of their reach. Magdalena was in a sense her own knight, forced to go far away on a quest while Louise stayed behind at the castle, anxiously awaiting her return. 

In some ways it was a comforting idea. After all, the knight usually returned back to the castle in triumph, reuniting with the lady in a display of chaste love. But would they have such a reunion? Even if she came back, would Magdalena still love her after the long time away from each other? 

Louise’s affection for her sister was undiminished, and Magdalena had reassured her before the group’s departure that her own feelings wouldn’t change either. But without the other woman around to reassure Louise of the fact… it was hard not to doubt in her darkest moments, especially with the already anxious in the monastery. 

She had tried to find ways to distract herself. She spent more time in the herb garden than ever before. It was to be hoped the other nuns didn’t mind having a lot of basil in their food, because this would be one of the largest harvests yet. At the very least the excess could be sold at the market, an unexpected upside of her worried gardening.

Louise had also started to pray more often, regularly staying in church past the midnight mass until the bell to get up sounded. In the past she had valued her sleep too much to not go back to bed. Instead she now prayed and prayed and prayed. Sometimes she prayed for Magdalena’s safe journey and for her love to remain. Other time she deliberately avoided thinking about her beloved. Instead she prayed for all kinds of things: for her parents’ souls, for the herbs in the garden to grow well, for Walburga’s gout, for sister Isabella to get her snoring under control. 

Occasionally it worked and Louise ended her prayers feeling more at peace. But often she left the church just as anxious as before, the prayers having devolved into worrying. And occasionally, when she imagined the Virgin, she couldn’t help imagine Magdalena’s features instead.

Her mind filled with such reminisces, Louise’s mood deflated as she made her way through the monastery’s halls. The string of worries was only interrupted in front of the garden door when she heard someone calling for her. 

“Sister Louise!”

She turned around to see sister Isabella hurrying towards her, at a pace that, outside the current circumstances, would probably have gotten her a reprimand. The other nun was waving about a piece of paper, smiling. 

“At the market we were given some letters for the abbey. There was one for you too.” 

Louise raised an eyebrow. She had no family outside the abbey, so who could have a message for her? A small voice in her mind piped up that there was at least one person who could have written to her, but she quickly squashed that voice down to avoid any undue hope.

“Oh! Well, thank you sister Isabella.”

Isabella waved her goodbye but Louise hardly registered it, already opening the letter with slightly shaking hands. At the top of the paper was written, in very familiar handwriting:

“My dearest Louise” 

Louise couldn’t help the broad smile that came on her face.


	5. France, 1920s

_Quartier Pigalle, Paris, 1928_

Applause filled the small theatre, accompanied by the sound of patrons discussing the play they just witnessed. Valentina waved her broad hat while bowing, a smile on her face. Soon, as the guests started to leave she made her way to the backstage of the Théatre Helicon. The name was rather fancy for what in effect amounted to a third-rate back-alley theatre but, well, the owner loved his mythology. 

She chatted a bit with the other cast members but soon slipped into her private dressing room. A private room wasn’t a common privilege in an establishment such as this, but ever since Valentina had started attracting a lot of clientele when playing the transvestite roles in the raunchy plays that were the theatre’s mainstay, she’d been able to negotiate a much better contract with the owner. He couldn’t have her running to the competition after all.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she slipped out of the costume. It was already a hot summer night and she’d sweated like an ox in the strange costume. It was supposed to be a recreation of an old Spanish nobleman’s attire, but of course much more tight in strategic places. It was already warm in and of itself, but to wear it on a hot summer night like this… It didn’t seem like a very practical attire for someone in Spain. It certainly would’ve landed you sick in bed back in Tuscany.

Once back in her normal suit, she took a moment to sit before the mirror and collect herself. Wipe of the sweat, get her hair presentable again and just calm herself down a bit. Acting was always somewhat tiring, sure, but it always left her feeling energetic for hours after.

Luckily the erotic displays she had to put on didn’t excite her as much as in the past anymore. Back then she’d sometimes forget her lines, caught up as she was with looking at the other actresses! And all the rapt attention from the audience, both male and female, hadn’t helped. But you got used to all things, she supposed. Now it was just a job, albeit a job she was damn good at.

A knock on the door and a loud voice from outside interrupted the woman’s thoughts.

“Valentine, darling, are you going to make us wait much longer? We don’t have all evening!”

Valentina rolled her eyes as she walked out into the hallway, immediately knowing who the voice belonged to. A couple of women stood outside, two of which she immediately recognised: a rather chubby brunette dressed in a suit like Valentina and a slightly taller black-haired woman in a flapper dress. The black-haired woman was already filling the small hallway with cigarette smoke but that didn’t prevent her from walking over and greeting Valentina with several kisses on the cheek. 

“Oh you were absolutely splendid tonight! They really outdid themselves with the costume this time. Particularly the tights.”

The woman winked as she said that. The brunette, Laura, rolled her eyes, though she smiled at the two.

“She always does a good job, are you really surprised, Aurelie?”

Aurelie gave a half-hearted glare back at her.

“Of course, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t congratulate her, dear!”

Valentina shook her head, a fond smile coming onto her face. She knew these two, if she let them continue they’d be in this hallway for ages. But she wasn’t sure she would survive that long without starving to death.

“If you two are going to continue this, can we at least go to Chez Marie first? Putting on a performance like that makes you hungry, you know!”

At that Laura grinned at her. It made the hair on Valentina’s back stand up.

“Not this time, I’m afraid.”

Aurelie joined in the grinning, looking just as smug.

“We have someone to introduce you to instead. Edwige, dear, you don’t need to stand that far back!”

From a bit further down the hall a girl stepped forward and Valentina wondered how she hadn’t noticed her before. The girl was easily a foot taller than everyone in the room. She had curly blonde hair that came just to her chin. Her dress, while definitely several years out of date, was still lovely. Her face had a certain sharpness to it, but any hostility was removed by big brown eyes and a blush that was, in Valentina’s opinion, very cute.

Santa Maria, she was exactly Valentina’s type.

The girl spoke up in a quiet voice:

“H-hello.”

Before Valentina could respond Aurelie started explaining:

“Apparently Edwige here is very taken with you, we’ve seen her come to your plays specifically a couple of times already. So we thought, why not bring her along to meet you? Plus, the poor dear is new in Pigalle. Maybe you could show her around, hm?”

Aurelie winked at her. From the smiles she and Laura wore, Valentina could tell they knew exactly what they were doing. She shot them both a half-hearted glare before turning to Edwige with a practiced, charming smile.

“Of course, I’d be more than happy to show the lovely mademoiselle around.”

She reached out to take Edwige’s hand and leant down to press a kiss to it. The growing blush on the girl’s face was a great reward. She just about managed to stutter out a response.

“Thank. Thank you very much…”

Seeing as their plan had been set in motion, Aurelie and Laura left with shouts of ‘have fun’ and some suggestive winks, leaving the two women alone in the hallway. Valentina turned to Edwige again.

“So first things first, what’s your actual name? Your accent is definitely not French, and I know from experience Aurelie has the most annoying habit of making every foreign name French. Even if she has to dredge them up from the history books she likes so much.”

The other girl giggled at that, a very pretty giggle.

“Yes, she did do that… It’s Jadwiga. Jadwiga Lachowska.”

Valentina smiled at her.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Valentina Gabrielli, but,” she winked, “if you come to see my plays so much, I’m sure you already know that, don’t you?”  
Jadwiga’s blush came back in full force as she looked away embarrassed.

“Y-yes, I do. You… You are very pretty, miss Gabrielli.”

Valentina chuckled. This girl was just too cute wasn’t she?

“Well, thank you very much, darling. And just Valentina is fine, you don’t need to worry about formalities. Now, how about I show you around Pigalle like I promised?”

She held out her arm for Jadwiga to take, putting on a charming grin as she nodded towards the exit.

Jadwiga shyly took her arm, giving her a small smile. They headed outside.

\----

Rain fell from the dark sky, pattering on the windows of the small café. L’Hermine was one of the many small cafés scattered throughout Pigalle. The coffee’s quality reflected it’s price and the seats were not what you’d call comfortable. However the owner, mademoiselle Berthou, had managed to turn it into something homely with some strategically placed flowers and some nice tablecloths. The mounted stoat that proudly surveyed the room from the bar somehow didn’t clash with that atmosphere.

The café was rather popular with some of Pigalle’s lesbian community. Mademoiselle Berthou didn’t much care who her customers were as long as they weren’t rude and didn’t cause any trouble. On top of that the café was not very far from some of the nightclubs and dancehalls they frequented, so it had become a popular spot for women who wanted to rest their legs a bit.

Even now Valentina and Jadwiga weren’t alone there. Several of the tables were occupied by other women, some of them clearly couples. At one other table there was a priest who must have wandered inside by mistake, going off of his very red face.

The night had been going well so far. Valentina had first taken Jadwiga to Chez Marie for dinner and then they’d gone to some of the dance halls. It must have been a bit overwhelming for the girl at first, but she’d quickly lost her initial shyness and Valentina could tell she’d been enjoying the evening. She’d started out the night clearly uneasy with all the open displays of affection and the many prostitutes around but after Valentina had introduced her to some of her friends, and after they’d danced a bit, that seemed to have dissipated. Before they left for the café Jadwiga had even surprised Valentina with a kiss! A peck on the cheek, but a welcome surprise nonetheless.

Valentina smiled at miss Berthou when she brought over the two coffees the girls had ordered. Then she turned to Jadwiga.

“So you’re sure you don’t need to head home yet? I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”

The woman shook her head.

“No, tomorrow is my day off. I’ll need to go to the Sunday service but I think I can skip the morning one and go to the evening mass for once.”

Valentina nodded, feeling a little bit of guilt. She hadn’t gone to the Sunday service in… well, she couldn’t really remember the last time.

“But aside from that, no nagging mother or landlady who wants you home by eleven? God knows mine used to complain about it, even if she’s given up now.”

Jadwiga sighed, leaning on her hand and looking out of the window.

“No mother. My family is still over in Poland. And the landlady doesn’t really bother us as long as we pay. It’s just me and my cat at home.”

Valentina felt her heart twinge a little. She could remember arriving in Paris alone all those years ago, in a strange and big city with no one she knew. She reached out to squeeze Jadwiga’s hand.

“Well, you’ve got me too now. If you need help with something, feel free to ask, alright? My door is always open.” She added with a smile, “Especially for cute women like you.”

Jadwiga blushed at the compliment. Still, her smile was less bright than it had been when Valentina had complimented her before. She reached out to fondle the little silver cross around her neck.

“Thank you but…”

There was a moment of silence.

“Are you sure it’s alright? To say such things?”

Valentina grimaced internally, though she still made sure to keep her face neutral.

“How do you mean ‘alright’? With God?”

Jadwiga nodded.

“The priest back home was always very clear about such things whenever I confessed. He always said it was a sin.”

Valentina sighed but smiled. It certainly wasn’t the first time she’d heard a friend air such worries.

“Let me tell you a story, okay?”

Jadwiga nodded, her eyes curious.

“I’ve always found women attractive. Back in Italy I even had a few girlfriends at school! Not that that was easy, the teachers were always on the lookout for such things. But we made it work.”

“One time my father had caught me, let’s say fondling, one of the other girls. You should have seen his face! I got a good beating, and no sweets for weeks!”

Jadwiga giggled a bit, the little joke thankfully getting her to relax a bit.

“But soon after he went on a business trip to Rome. When he came back he had a big book with him. I wouldn’t be able to give you the title, it was a translation of some American work and it was years ago. But he told me to read it, which I did. And it taught me something very important."

She spread her hands, smiling as if the conclusion was obvious.

“There’s nothing wrong with it. If you are attracted to another woman, that’s because your genes tell you to. If it’s your genes doing it, it’s natural. And if something’s natural, how can it be a sin?”

Jadwiga frowned, clearly still dubious.

“Well, that’s what science says. It’s not what the bible says.”

Valentina shrugged.

“Well I’m an actress, not a theologian. But I have a friend at the university. He told me that there’s a lot of priests who believe in that evolution thing and one who’s recently started saying that the universe started from a big explosion. So if priests can believe that while the bible says it was all made in a week, there’s probably less contradiction around this as well.“

“Besides,” She reached out to take Jadwiga’s hands in hers, “you’ve seen all those other women having fun and being together tonight. They weren’t having some sort of massive orgy, or whatever the clergy thinks we get up to. They were just being themselves and being happy. And so were you. Why on earth would God be against that?”

Jadwiga broke away from Valentina’s gaze to focus on her coffee. Valentina did the same, leaving the girl with some space to think about what she had said. She’d have to introduce Jadwiga to some friends of hers later, who were much more religious than Valentina herself was and who could probably help the woman more. Valentina just hoped what she’d said would be enough for the girl, at least for now. 

After a little while Jadwiga looked up again, a slightly embarrassed smile on her lips. 

“You’re right, it wouldn’t make much sense. Sorry for bringing the conversation down like that, I just… I felt very anxious all of a sudden.”

Valentina laughed and shook her head.

“Don’t worry about it. We all need a bit of reassurance now and then. If you’re up for it, how about we go dance those worries of yours away? I know a nice place not far from here and the night is still young after all.”

She winked and gallantly held out her hand to help her companion out of her seat. Jadwiga took it and giggled as she made a small curtsy to mirror Valentina’s princely behaviour. 

Soon the two of them disappeared into the night.


End file.
